Midnight in a Perfect World
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: After so very many trials as a couple, George and Emily are finally married. [Jilliam and Gemily. Immediate follow up to Eternity, One Night Only. Rated T for sexual situations. Common Life AU series]


A/N: As requested, here's the follow up to _Eternity, One Night Only_ , because so very many of you wondered exactly what happened during the first night of the Crabtrees' life as a married couple! This takes place immediately after the aforementioned fic, and really won't make very much sense if you haven't read it. I've got a few weeks until the regular semester at my university starts back up again, so I'm taking the opportunity to finally write out all of these dastardly plot bunnies.

Even though I ship Gemily, I'll be the first to acknowledge that George did for a time have a very serious and dedicated relationship with Edna. His previously mentioned romantic partners do include her, along with one or two other ladies that shall remain nameless for the time being. Keep in mind that this fic is rated high T for sexual situations, but really nothing too terribly graphic. There's references to 8x04 ( _Holy Matrimony, Murdoch!_ ) because I just couldn't help myself. Enjoy. Unbetaed oneshot, complete as published.

 **Midnight in a Perfect World**

It was two in the afternoon when William Murdoch exited the washroom, the cuffs of his dusky suit drawn up and his hair immaculately styled. He'd even had the foresight to pack his best shoes, the fine Italian leather buffed to an immaculate shine. These were not the heavy duty brogues he wore to traverse the city in pursuit of clues to his latest case, but the loafers whose soles would typically only grace the wooden floors of a cathedral. They were still stiff from lack of wear, nearly causing the gentleman to trip over his own feet as he stepped onto the carpeting of their rented room.

Out of instinct, he looked left and then right, silently praying that no one had made visual notice of his graceless misstep. Indeed, the only one within ear shot was his lovely wife, and even she had her back turned to him as she rummaged about in their suitcases for her necessaries.

Satisfied that what little dignity he had left remained intact, William set to tucking his tie underneath the collar of his starched white shirt. The mirror on the dresser was painfully small, and he had to bend his neck at an unnatural angle to catch his reflection.

From the opposite end of the room, he heard Julia groan. She stood then, rubbing her temples and squinting into the light that was streaming in through the window. The night before, she and Emily had gotten rather sloppily intoxicated on a bottle of whiskey imparted upon them by the aunts, and the effects were still being felt into the hours of the early afternoon.

He suspected that as the evening wore on and the wedding party passed from venue to venue, the matron of honor would self-medicate with a dose of codeine or heroin. Then again, he couldn't say that he would blame her.

Julia looked resplendent in a gown colored the softest of pinks, a harmonious shade that fit the occasion and—he wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed this—matched exactly the tint of the petunias that were presently flowering on either side of the footpaths in town. Her hair had been drawn back in its usual style, as if she was preparing to make her way to the hospital for the day, and her lips were stained the most subtle shade of crimson. William couldn't recall the last time she'd looked as lovely… _well_ , perhaps last Sunday, when she'd accompanied him to morning mass, or the previous Tuesday, when they'd gone out to the opera, _or_ —

At last, the good doctor caught a glimpse of her husband staring. Not too proud to indulge herself in a bit of male attention, Julia placed her hands on her hips and said, "Perhaps we should have a portrait made. It might last longer."

William nodded to show that he was in full support of the idea. "Agreed. We could commission one of the classicist painters from Montreal to paint you in repose. The less clothing, the better."

Feigning reproach at his rather forward commentary, Julia treated the inspector to a rather gratuitous sight of her behind as she bent back over her valise, rummaging for the perfect accessory to complete her ensemble.

He continued his visual stock of his clothing, taking great care to smooth out wrinkles and refold the pressed creases of his jacket sleeves. At last, William reached the interior pocket, and released the clasp to make sure that the contents were secure.

Almost immediately, his heart dropped into his stomach. He fished around in the folds for several more seconds, even turning the pockets of his trousers inside out before concluding that what he'd been trusted to care for, really, his _only_ responsibility in the day's proceedings, simply wasn't there.

"Julia," he began softly, his hands finding the jewelry box on the dresser's top and overturning it. Her baubles spilled out onto the wooden surface, drawing her attention away from her search. "The ring George gave to me, the one he's to give to Emily at the ceremony...it's gone."

"Whatever do you mean?" She replied, as if his initial assessment wasn't clear enough. In his mind's eye, William began to maneuver his way through the steps of the worst case scenario. It was Saturday, so any jewelers in St. John would be shuttered for the weekend. His dear friend would be devastated to learn of the loss of the investment, and his marriage might start off on the wrong foot. Dear Lord, if he was to be responsible to a set of failed nuptials, he couldn't even _begin_ to forgive himself…

"I had it in my suit pocket, but now it seems to have disappeared," he stuttered, absently shuffling through the contents of the drawers. His fingers made contact with a few complimentary quilts, and even a few folded shirts, but no ring.

"Oh dear," Julia clucked her tongue, reaching into her purse. "Could you possibly be referring this?"

The relief was immediate and all consuming. The simple silver band picked up the sunlight, attracting his attention from across the room. He was there in an instant, taking it from her hand and taking great care to secure it in its proper hiding place once more.

"I found it on the floor of this suite," she continued, "It must have slipped out when we undressed for bed last night. Fear not, inspector. Did you think I'd allow my husband to commit the same mistake that nearly derailed our wedding only a few years ago?"

If he hadn't been so thankful, William might have found her tone a bit patronizing. But, as for now, he was glad that she'd found it. Sinking onto the bed, his head in his hands, he brought in a great sigh of relief.

-0-

An hour later, two women left their temporary lodgings in the center of town and began their long trek into the countryside. While their better halves had opted to take a carriage out to the coast, the ladies had opted for a more stately method of transportation. It would take considerably more time, which was without a question, but neither could deny that their journey would be symbolic of new beginnings.

Emily led the way onto the bustling main thoroughfare of the settlement, a bundle of white lilies clasped in a vicelike grip. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, completely at odds with her dewy and youthful visage. Julia had hoped that any lingering misgivings the younger woman managed to hold on to might have dissipated in the wake of their ill-advised hen party the night before, but clearly this was not the case. As they made several detours into alleyways to avoid the crowds, a handful of dock workers couldn't help but voice their appreciation of the duo.

In response, Dr. Grace raised her daintily gloved hand and made a vulgar gesture at the nearest catcaller. Julia threw her head back and laughed, and suddenly all of the anticipatory tension between them had disappeared. Linking their elbows together and lifting their skirts, they dashed far away from the jeering calls of the aberrant gentlemen.

Now past the last row of homes that made up the community of St. John, the two women separated. Julia couldn't help but step back and admire her handiwork.

Emily had vehemently rejected the idea of wearing her hair drawn back in any of the respectable bridal styles; everyone in greater Toronto society knew that she wasn't of pure countenance, so who was she to try and fool them? She'd eventually settled for her trademark sternum grazing chestnut curls, which were offset by a starched lace veil and several strands of strategically placed ivory pearls. They'd been an investment to say in the least, and had nearly bankrupted the two women's stash of funds for frivolous purchases, but seeing the way they caught the light and refracted it back like a prism, Julia couldn't bring herself to regret the choice.

Her dress was equally stunning, made of the finest silks and linen that a pathologist's salary could afford. Indeed, the bride had commissioned a seamstress to create a one of a kind garment for what would arguably be the most significant day of her life. It was decidedly less modest than either of Julia's dresses had been, with a calf high slit in the skirt and a neckline that grazed the collarbone. And although Emily was wearing the opaque stockings and flat shoes that were expected for the occasion, only her best friend knew what sort of wanton surprise was waiting underneath.

"Does William have the ring?" Emily asked, suddenly concerned.

"He does indeed," Dr. Ogden replied, "I made sure of it."

She moved to take her hand as they came to the bottom of a certain hill. The silence between them was immense, impenetrable. Whatever lay in store for them at the top of the slope had the potential to change their lives forever. Taking a deep breath and steeling her voice against any encroaching emotion, Emily said, "Thank you, Julia."

The older woman could have asked what she had done to warrant such gratitude, but she knew that such things were beyond words between close friends. The two embraced, savoring the moment.

The briny scent of sea water reached them from the beach several hundred meters away, while the wind threatened to whip the landscape into the fray. And even through all of the commotion that was taking place, they could hear the titter of nervous conversation taking place somewhere above them.

-0-

Further up the hill, William reminded his friend for the tenth time in the past quarter of an hour to breathe. Secretly, he thought that he'd never seen George so anxious in all the time he'd known him, but he didn't dare express his misgivings in front of the minister. The clergyman, who had to be called in from a neighboring township for the ceremony and clearly didn't care much for the Crabtree family, was growing wearied of the situation. The natural awning made of curved boughs and fresh cherry blossoms that the aunts had crafted for the occasion had thrashed free of its moorings and was threatening to blow away with the wind. A branch even snapped and clipped off the minister's porkpie cap, sending it tumbling into the dunes. Murdoch had to suppress a laugh at that. The entire situation, which had been promised to be a solemn affair, was quickly turning into one befitting of such a whimsical pair.

George coughed into the elbow of his rented tuxedo, then bent his knees to make certain that the blood was still flowing. Turning to his best man, he began, "Do you have the—"

"Yes!" William cried emphatically, throwing his hands into the air. Why was everyone going to the trouble to ask that, of all things?

Suddenly, the sunlight caught the glint of something luminescent coming over the crest of the hill, causing the detective's breath to catch in his chest. His best girl, wearing a smile radiant enough to rival all of the jewels in Africa, was approaching where he stood.

His friend smiled indulgently at his wife, who had arrived at the arbor long before. They exchanged knowing glances, for at long last their closest companions were to be joined in holy matrimony. William was at once reminded of a passage from the dialogues of Plato. As a young man, already disillusioned with the state of his family life and his impending commitment to the Jesuit lifestyle, he'd been taken aback by the stark beauty of the prose he'd found in one of his assignment books. Dashing up the stairs to the room he'd shared with several other boys, he'd knelt before his bed and underlined a stanza with a charcoal pencil: _After years spent in a state of agonized tension, trying to manipulate the world into being perfect, how relaxing to surrender at last and find that the perfect world is always and already here…_

Indeed, although their fraction of the cosmos they called their own might never be perfect, it sure seemed to be approaching that. Watching how the younger couple came together as one before the eyes of the Lord, their souls clasped together in the face of eternity, William couldn't help but reminisce of ancient philosophy and axioms as old as time itself.

-0-

The ceremony went off without so much of a hitch; the minister's sermon was mercifully short, most likely to do with the fact that a grand total of four people were in attendance to heed his words. After a kiss was exchanged and the bouquet dashed off to no one in particular, the wedding party departed their temporary oasis by the sea and made their way back into town, where the reception party would be waiting.

Once they were out of sight from the preacher and the Murdochs, George took it upon himself to deliver a sound wallop to his new wife's backside. She yelped immediately, clutching the affected area and exclaiming, "What in the world?"

"Sorry, Emily," he appealed to her humanity, twining an arm around her waist and drawing her close. "An old tradition among the lads in Newfoundland, nothing more."

She looked for all the world like she wanted to chastise him, but soon thought better of it. Instead she brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "Save that for the bedroom, Mr. Crabtree."

As they rounded the corner onto the proper street and the sounds of the revelry taking place in the backyard of the aunts' home reached them, Emily was off at once, her spirit carrying her on tremendously light feet towards the merrymaking. Her shoes were off in her hands, and as she made tracks down the sidewalk in her stockinged feet, George could hear her whooping for joy.

He didn't spare her comment a second thought. Hiking up the legs of her trousers and tucking his hat under one arm, he went to join her.

-0-

Julia wouldn't have thought that the good people of St. John would deign to attend a reception hosted by the gadabout Flower Girls of Flower Hill, but it was now clear that her previous notions were mistaken. There were at least one hundred people crowded in the narrow space between the backyard of their home and the building behind them, and half that many clogging the alleyway between the two neighboring houses. There were delectable fingerling sandwiches and sweet treats for the children in attendance, and keen eyes could detect kegs of heaven knew what being passed around the adults.

Long tails of hand painted streamers had been strung between eaves, and ovoid lanterns had been hung from every available receptacle. There was even a six piece band at the far corner of the lawn, made up of a washboard, several tin flutes, and the quaintest looking wooden fiddle. Julia was beginning to understand why the aunts had opted to skip the ceremony.

There was a commotion from one end of the crowd, then a flurry of raised glasses and well-wishers ushered the newly wedded couple into the circle of revelers. George and Emily began to dance immediately, kicking their heels and turning about each other as if they'd heard this particular Irish jig a thousand times before.

It was drastically different than her and William's first dance as a married pair, which had been a traditional waltz sneaked into the final few moments of the party. They'd become absorbed in a case that day, nearly ruining the entire affair and causing poor Margaret Brackenreid to suffer a fit. But it had been worth it to see the true criminal put behind bars, and at the end of the night, she'd still been able to go home with the man she loved.

Speaking of which—she could see her husband now, ducked into a corner as he desperately tried to avoid being sucked into the circle of carousers. He wasn't a gifted dancer, all elbows and stiff gestures, and such lively fare wasn't his style. She briefly entertained the thought of going to him and bringing him into the fray—after all these years, he really should begin to shed some of his inhibitions—but she could see that Aunt Azalea had beaten her to the proposition, and clearly wasn't taking no for an answer.

As she watched her husband bob up and down in a feeble attempt to move to the frenetic rhythm of the music, Julia couldn't help but laugh. His distinct style was attracting the attention of many a woman in the crowd, and they began to crowd around him hoping for the opportunity to dance with the handsome mainlander. He caught her eye and made a grotesque facial expression that she could only interpret as desperation, but whatever was about to happen was out of her hands.

Blowing a kiss to her husband, Julia went in search of a flask of liquor.

-0-

If all falsehoods were set aside, George had to admit that he didn't know to prepare himself for his wedding night. Of course he knew the fundamentals of the intimate practices that took place between committed couples—he did, after all, work among several dozen young men, not all of which consistently spoke in a decorous manner of their partners—but he'd never once thought of what he might do should he find himself in such an amorous situation. He'd preferred to focus on the prospective mannerisms of the woman and her keening cries, her back arched like a drawn bow, the endless stretches of ivory skin laid bare for his perusal—oh, _dear Lord…_

He digressed. The inspector had imparted upon him some valuable tidbits of wisdom, including several that he intended to put to good use in this very instance. First came the responsibility of satisfying the woman on her terms, which was to be considered his first priority as a proper husband. Then came the exchange of consent, and the foregoing acts of affection, and then the deed itself. It was surely almost too much to think about, especially when he imagined Emily's legs wrapped around his waist, the intoxicating scent of her perfume filling his nose and muddling his senses.

George really had to snap out of it. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for quite some time, not out of vanity, but of what he thought was necessity. He removed his shirt at first, before deciding that this might be too forward. Yet, a fully covered torso might indicate hesitance, or even worse, frigidity. He settled for leaving the collar and top button undone, his tie and suit jacket hung over the hook in the washroom. Really, if he stayed hidden away for much longer, he might just lose his nerve. Exiting and slamming the door behind him, George found himself in quite the unfamiliar situation.

For their first night as a married couple, the Crabtrees had opted to reserve the honeymoon suite in the most prestigious hotel in the city. In only two days, they'd board a cross country train to Sault Ste Marie, then travel across Lake Michigan to the glistening metropolis of Chicago for their honeymoon. It was sure to be the most lavish trip either had taken in the sum of their lives; indeed, even the room they were currently staying seemed impossibly opulent, all plush fabrics and expensive furnishings.

However, the most exquisite fixture in the room at the moment was his bride. Emily lay stretched out on the chaise lounge, a cigarette dangling from her delicately rouged lips. Every scrap of finery had been removed from her body, leaving only the meager protection of the thinnest slip of red silk that George had ever seen. Her arms were bare, and a great deal of cleavage was visible to the casual view. As she rose from her perch, lithe and supple as a cat, he caught a glimpse of her upper thighs through a slit in her skirt.

"There you are," she purred, her slender fingers coming behind her neck and knitting together as she stretched provocatively. "I was beginning to worry about you."

George found that he couldn't answer, but could only gape at the heavenly little minx that stood before him now, mere centimeters from an open and welcoming bed. Really, his trousers were getting uncomfortably tight.

"Do you like this?" Emily asked. She extinguished her cigarette and gave an experimental twirl in the lingerie. "I also purchased a little white nuisance, all boning and corsetry, but I surmised that there was little use trying to fool you into thinking I was a woman of virtue."

He swallowed thickly, knowing full well of her previous indiscretions with Leslie Garland. Part of the pact they'd made to each other whenever they'd first recommitted to their relationship was full disclosure of previous romantic overtures, something that he'd grown to appreciate. And because he was at a loss for words, he managed to stammer out, "You look lovely, and that's quite alright. You know, I've had a handful of encounters with women I've courted before, but never _this_ —"

Clearly this was the wrong thing to say. Initially he feared for his safety as his bride surged forward, her hands reaching for his shoulders. But whatever apology he might have issued died on his lips as he found himself pushed back onto the bed.

"George Crabtree, you devil!" Emily cried passionately, straddling his abdomen. Her hands come up to secure his forearms to the comforter with greater strength than he thought she was capable. He gratefully submitted to this unexpected display of dominance, especially when she began to rock her hips against his.

Whatever sins of the flesh they'd committed before their life as a married couple had begun didn't hold a candle to the moment that was, the moment that was, and the moment they'd grow to cherish forever. Emily's hands moved towards the midline, her deft fingers surveying the handsome expanse of his chest. When his head suddenly snapped up, capturing one of her fingers between his lips, she gasped in surprise.

If neither of them intervened, this could quickly grow out of control. Before things escalated any further, George managed to vocalize his concerns, grounding out, "Emily, this suit is rented."

This reminder of obligation quickly snuffed out the candle of her arousal, and she rolled off of him. The straps of her nightie had slipped off her delicate shoulders, and her cheeks were pink with exertion. She was a bit disappointed, but didn't let that show as she caught George by the elbow on his retreat back to the bathroom.

"No," she demanded roughly, "I want to watch."

Who was he to deny her, the woman to whom he had promised his heart? George did his best to put on a show, slowly divesting himself of his trousers and shirt. All the while, he studied Emily's eyes, and how they smoldered with inexpressible desire. When he was finally nude, laid bare before her gaze, he awaited her final approval.

As if he really needed it. She smiled suddenly, gesturing for him to come to her side. He complied, and her hands wound around his neck in an entirely practiced manner. As the two fell back onto the pillows, at long last prepared to share the depths of their love with one another, the soft touch of Emily's lips against his own took him home.

-0-

Several hours later in the predawn hours of the early morning, the Crabtrees received their very first noise complaint of their married life. George greeted the notice from the front desk with an understanding smile and a pacifying nod of the head, then secured the deadbolt over the door once more and returned to bed.

 **The End**


End file.
